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What I felt today, outside of still horny as fuck, was settled and happy. It was such an alien feeling. Sure, I’d felt it forever ago when I was younger and didn’t get in my own way. Before I fell so hard for Reed, but couldn’t give him what he wanted. Maybe it was supposed to play out that way. Me not giving in and figuring my shit out until Elic came along. We were both waiting for him to make us whole.
I sensed them before I saw them. Looking up, Reed and Elic stood just inside the doorway to the studio.
“Are you writing a song?” Elic asked. He liked to ask Reed and me questions about our processes, the band, what it was like to record, and to tour. Elic wanted to know everything about us. We asked him questions too but were sure to keep them to the good times in his life, like when his mom was still alive. He’d told us countless stories about her. The pain he felt at missing her was palpable. Reed knew what he was going through. Me, I didn’t give a single fuck where the asshole who helped create me was.
Nodding, I glanced down at my notebook on the stand in front of me. I should close it before they saw it. No one had ever read what I’d written. Not the words in the margins or the lyrics I’d penned.
Elic came closer, motioning toward the book. “May we?”
I swallowed and nodded again, even as my heart picked up speed. My eyes slid closed, not wanting to see the looks on their faces. Reading the words in there was akin to having someone peer into my soul, but if there was anyone I’d want to look inside me, it was them.
“You’ve never recorded these?”
“No,” Reed said before I could. I opened my eyes but focused on the guitar I was holding. “Casper’s protective when it comes to his notebooks. We don’t push him on it. One day, I hope he’ll share them with the band. I bet there’s a killer album in those pages.”
“More like apologies,” I murmured.
“Ones no longer needed.”
I shrugged and kept strumming, not really paying attention to what I played. My fingers moving over the strings gave me something to do rather than wait for Elic’s critique of my music.
Elic put the book down, then came closer, pressing in between my thighs where I sat on the stool. I moved the guitar out of the way, handing it to Reed, who was waiting for it with his outstretched hand. “Reed’s right,” Elic said softly, his hands going to either side of my neck. “What you have in there is beautiful. To put music to it or to match up the music you have in there with the lyrics, you’d blow your fans away.”
“Maybe.” I met his eyes, not wanting to say anything more, yet hoping he could read me well enough to see how difficult it was for me to share.
Reed picked up the notebook next and started reading aloud the first page he came to.
Notes of unspoken words
A song they’ve never heard
I write for me alone
Afraid of being known
They’ve peered into my soul
A deep, dark hole
Light hadn’t been seen
Until they made me come clean
It wasn’t easy, and I had my doubts
But they were there even through my shouts
Of letting them in like no one before
Because what they give me is more
Than notes of unspoken words
“Casper,” Reed whispered.
“It’s just the ramblings of a madman at four in the morning.”
“It’s beautiful. You never have to record this or show it to the others, but letting El and me see it, that’s a gift, baby. Thank you for your trust.”
